Five Years Later, The Truth Comes Out

Today is a special day. Today my little boy turns five years old. And today it is time I told the truth about whom exactly my son is named after.

Anyone who has asked me how Michael James got his name has likely heard this response: James came from both of his grandfathers, who very conveniently have the same first name, giving my husband and I a no-brainer way of making our child a namesake without offending the other side of the family. And Michael was agreed upon because we liked it, we liked the nickname attached to it, and frankly, we thought that Mike Suellentrop sounded like “a hell of a guy.” Mike Suellentrop? He’d give you the shirt off his back. Hell of a guy…Have you seen Mike Suellentrop? Yeah, he’s been working the beer tent all afternoon. Hell of a guy…Oh, Mike Suellentrop’s going to be there? Then it WILL be a party. Count me in. He’s sure a hell of a guy.

But Michael James is actually named after an anesthesiologist. Let me take you back to the year 2005.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I ended up needing a scheduled cesarean section two weeks before her due date because she was breech, and my rising blood pressure meant my doc didn’t want to wait for her to take her sweet time to flip. To be completely honest, I was very okay with that decision. In fact, the only thing I was really worried about was the epidural. I mean, a giant needle piercing my spinal cord sounded worse than being stuck at the DMV wearing a pair of Spanx that are one size too small after just having eaten a Big Mac, sitting next to a guy who hasn’t showered in a week and being forced to listen to “The Electric Slide” song on a continuous loop. Getting an epidural doesn’t sound like something any woman would enjoy, but at least those in labor are already in searing and ripping pain and willing to endure anything that will make them more comfortable again. But me, I wasn’t in labor. I was feeling just hunky-dory, thank you very much. And I didn’t have the distraction of contractions to keep my mind busy, so all I did for the days leading up the surgery was worry about it.

And it didn’t help the morning of the c-section when the nurse who put in my IV was obviously trained in the art of medieval torture. According to her, I had dainty veins. So when my anesthesiologist was ready to put in the epidural, I was deep in prayer that I didn’t also have a dainty spinal cord. And I let him know how nervous I was. He had many words aimed at assuaging my fears, but the thing that put me at ease was when he told me his name. Mike. Mike the Anesthesiologist. My husband and I smiled. We were part of the rebellious few who don’t find out the sex of the baby, so we had our girl and our boy names ready to go. Well, we actually had two boy names. It was down to Brian or Michael, and we figured if baby came out a boy, we would just decide which he looked more like. My husband jokingly said to Mike the Anesthesiologist, “Well, if you do a good job and we have a boy, we’ll name him after you.” But we didn’t have a boy. We had Grace. Still, I was so thankful that our lighthearted conversation about names helped take my mind off of getting the epidural (which really wasn’t that bad, meaning Mike the Anesthesiologist was also a man of his word), and his calming presence in the operating room kept me at peace so that I could fully enjoy the birth of my daughter. Not only that, but he also took the very first pictures of her emerging into the world so that my husband didn’t have to see my innards (ew, awkward). I would remember Mike the Anesthesiologist as an integral part of that special day.

Fast forward to three years later, when I again found myself carrying a breech baby. (What is with my kids and their directional problems?…OH, geez. Now it all makes sense why they never listen to me! They began life disobeying Mother Nature.) When I was scheduling the c-section date with my OB, I sheepishly asked if I could make one strange request. I wondered if I could have Mike the Anesthesiologist there again. My OB laughed, and said he unfortunately couldn’t make that request. I would just have to hope that Mike the Anesthesiologist was scheduled that day, at which time I could ask him to do my epidural if he wasn’t already otherwise engaged. So I hoped.

It was one of the first questions I asked when I got to the hospital. “Is Mike the Anesthesiologist working today?” …holding my breath…No. No he was not. Bummer. So I set off to my hospital room to get prepped for my surgery. And despite rationally knowing that Mike the Anesthesiologist was just one of many, many qualified people who could give me an epidural, I began getting nervous about it all over again.

Until, that is, this sweet little nurse came into my room and said, “You’re not going to believe this…” It turns out that the anesthesiologist who was scheduled for that morning broke herarm, and guess who was filling in for her? Mike the Anesthesiologist! Suddenly I knew everything was going to be just fine. It had to be. And it was.

Of course Mike the Anesthesiologist didn’t remember me, but he was curious as to why he was “requested.” Apparently that doesn’t happen that often in their field of work. So we told him the story, and told him once again that the name Michael had made the cut if baby turned out to be a boy. As I was being wheeled to the operating room, Mike the Anesthesiologist said to me, “Here we go. By the way, what’s the middle name if you have a boy.”

“James, after our fathers.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No. Why?”

“Because that’s my middle name.”

Mike the Anesthesiologist, me, my OB holding the newest Michael, and my husband. P.S. My OB, who is pretty much the greatest one on the planet, was a little miffed we named the baby after the anesthesiologist. He claimed he did all the work. I told him he’d get the next one. Naturally, now he keeps bugging me about when that “next one” is coming.

Fifteen minutes later, Michael James came into the world, five years ago today. My Michael may have been accidentally named after Mike the Anesthesiologist, but the fact that he is seems like part of some divine plan, just like the way Mike the Anesthesiologist accidentally became my guardian on that second special day in my life. Who would have known that when we decided Mike Suellentrop sounded like “a hell of a guy” that he would be sharing his name with another “hell of a guy” for whom I will be forever grateful.

I have not seen Mike the Anesthesiologist since that day, but I wonder what he would think of his namesake. Me, I think he is indeed turning into one hell of a little guy.

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I absolutely don’t mind, Mary! In fact, THANKS for passing it on…Mike and Dr. Joe deserve to know they are appreciated. And knowing Dr. Joe, he will get a kick out of it, and I’m sure I’ll hear about it at my next appointment. Every time I see that picture of me, Michael, and Kurt with the two of them, it fills me with such happiness that I was surrounded by such amazing people I trusted (in addition to the rest of the top-notch nurses and staff) on one of the most important days of my life. Dr. Joe even called me the night before the c-section to make sure I was feeling good about the whole thing, which I was because I knew he was in charge. But he called kind of late and I told him HE needed to go to bed and get a good night’s sleep 😉 And I love that Mike was there for both of my babies being born…I just wish Dr. Joe had been too (I had a different OB with Grace who was a really great doc, he was just missing that sparkling personality!). And I’ll give you a pass on the second greatest little boy thing…in fact, there would be something wrong if you DIDN’T feel that way!)

Korisa

I just love your writing! You have the best sweet/casual/funny/sincere way of writing! (Also, since reading your blog, I think of you almost every time I see Monkees memorabilia). My hopes are this will bring you to an amazing career as a memoir author (Check out Jen Lancaster; this is exactly how she started; she’s my favorite author). Keep it up!
(And “dainty veins”? Ugh, that’s the worst!)

That’s it on my side (at least close-family-wise), but my husband has an Uncle Mike as well. So they are everywhere! Fact of the matter is, it’s just a great name, and I’m not one of those people who cares if my kid has a popular name. I’d rather love the name and have it be everywhere than pick something I didn’t like as much for the sake of being different. And with a last name like Suellentrop, it’s only fair to our kids that we keep their first names simple.

Oh my gosh. You just made my day!!! I have similar hopes…I have some work to do, but it’s wonderful to hear other success stories! In the meantime, I’m just enjoying myself with the blog and comments like this are super-smooth buttercream icing on the cake. Thank you so much! P.S. I have since been told my veins are just fine. I think I just got newbie unfortunately 🙂

Best story ever! I bet some day when your daughter is in labor, Mike the Anesthesiologist will come out of the woodwork and deliver some of that epidural goodness to her! I hope this blog post finds its way to him. The anesthesiologist who administered my epidural was awesome too. He looked exactly like Bill Murray.

Thanks! I have a feeling it will it’s way to him. I’ve already had three people who know him offer to pass it along. Which makes me happy. And Bill Murray? I think that would be concerning and awesome all at the same time!!!

This is the best story ever! My son-in-law’s name is Mike and he is pretty special too and a heck of a guy also. Don’t you love it when somebody can make you feel so secure when you are nervous. I felt like that when I woke up during my last operation and the guy was whispering sweet things in my ear. God bless the good medical druggie people.

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Kelly is a children's author and freelance writer, wildly popular among her family and friends. Before that, her claims to fame were being born the same day Elvis died and being a member of a four-time state championship high school basketball team...as the stats manager. Find her work at KellySuellentrop.com

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